The First Tale of the Moon of Saba
First you must understand that there are a great many tales. Stories do that, don’t they, branching out like a sapling searching
for sunlight? By the time centuries have passed and that sapling is a mighty tree, there are more branches than can be counted,
sprawling in widely different directions. You will find, as our dear nakhudha was to learn to her later chagrin, that the
Moon of Saba fits this metaphor most aptly. But we shall begin first with the tale most popular along the shores where Amina
al-Sirafi once prowled, and it opens very simply.
There was and was not a queen who bewitched the moon.
A great many songs and holy verses have extolled the magnificence and clever mind of the Prophet Suleiman, peace be upon him.
A wise king, blessed and beloved of God, who was granted mastery of animals and djinn alike. But it is the woman alternatively
called his consort and his companion, his queen and his ally, whom I shall speak of today. We’re all familiar with her name
and her story—Queen Bilqis of Saba, a prosperous and gentle land, lush with wealth and an ancient heritage. Rumored to be
the daughter of a human king and a djinn mother, Bilqis herself was touched by magic long before meeting Suleiman.
We know well too their famed first meeting, brought about when Suleiman’s wily djinn servants transported Bilqis’s throne across vast deserts and mountains in the blink of an eye, landing the startled queen in the palace of a foreigner.
And yet Bilqis was so moved by the marvels of Suleiman’s court—by the glass floor so wondrously constructed over a pool of swimming fish and dancing seagrass she lifted her hem to cross—that the queen gave up her pagan ways to worship God alone, may He be praised!
Suleiman and Bilqis shared the wisdom of rulers, traveled widely, and, depending on the teller of the tale, eventually married.
But that is not the account I like.
I prefer the stories that have them part sweetly as the dearest of friends. The stories that have Bilqis return to her homeland
with a company of djinn retainers, a gift from Suleiman. They would serve her as devotedly as they had attended to Suleiman,
and perhaps—if I am permitted to speculate—in a more familiar way, seeing her as a beloved cousin. With her djinn companions,
Bilqis built vast palaces and libraries, fortresses and gardens, some of which still stand today. She ruled wisely and independently
for decades to come, surrounded by grandchildren and perhaps a handsome djinn consort or two. She was cunning and beautiful,
a monarch so beloved that Yemen’s later queens would call themselves “little Bilqis.’”
So cunning and beautiful that she captured the attention of the moon itself... or rather an aspect.
Now, we are not sailors like Amina, reliant upon reading the lights of the night sky, so perhaps I should clarify what I mean
by an aspect . As you trace the movement of the stars and planets over the horizon, so too does the moon travel across them all, taking
residence in a different location or manzil every fortnight. Practical people read such signs to cross oceans, devise horoscopes,
and predict the weather; whimsical souls such as myself with too much time and audiences to please read them to entertain
with tales of centaurs and scorpions.
There are eighteen named manazil and we may forget all save the fourth, al-Dabaran.
It is said while the moon was in the manzil of al-Dabaran, it spied upon Bilqis and fell instantly in love (do not ask me how moons can do such a thing, I am a simple scribe).
Al-Dabaran longed for Bilqis, the many months he spent in darkness a torture.
Not content to be with her only two weeks out of the year, al-Dabaran one day managed to manifest himself, appearing in the form of a large celestial pearl.
Delighted to meet her lunar admirer, Bilqis made the pearl the center of her diadem and was said to enjoy the company and
advice of al-Dabaran throughout the rest of her years. Considering al-Dabaran is the manzil of strife, ill will, spirits of
discord, and revenge, I am not certain how that favored her. Then again it is apparently an excellent time of the year to
purchase cattle and dig ditches, so who I am to question the accumulated wisdom of centuries of scholars?
As to the fate of the pearl (called the Moon of Saba from then on) after Queen Bilqis surrendered to death and returned to her Lord.
.. ah, that is where our already complicated tree of tales branches off with a profusion of blooms unrivaled in its fertility.
I have heard dozens—scores!—of stories relating its fate.
Some say al-Dabaran drove waves over her palace in a massive tide to retrieve his manifestation; others say the great conqueror Alexander stole the diadem from a mausoleum now lost, broke off the pearl, and used its magic to conquer Persia.
There are tales of it being plucked away by a fairy who accidentally dropped it into the ocean, whereupon it transformed into the island of Comoros, and other tales of a great sea dragon with a leering bone face swallowing up a ship of human thieves who tried to ferry the pearl to the emerald heights of Mount Qaf.
I have met pirates and princes, fishermen and porters from lands as far away as Madagascar and Malacca who laugh at my stories and correct me—for you see, the Moon of Saba ended up in their lands, tied to another further dozen fates and hiding places yet uncovered.
It is a bewildering chaos that seems almost... purposeful. As though long ago someone or some persons, well trained in
the disposal of dangerous magical artifacts, sowed the seeds of a bewildering cacophony that would end up making the Moon
of Saba sound even more ridiculous than the rest of the fanciful items treasure hunters seek. As though they feared the Moon
of Saba falling into the hands of someone who lacked Bilqis’s wisdom and had only avarice in their hearts. As though...
Well, I suppose to go on further would be getting ahead of things. And truthfully it seems a bit rude to rush past our dear
nakhudha, who was already getting pulled into situations not of her making and which she, as she told me many a time, “would
have fucking avoided.” (God forgive such language, but I did promise to honor her voice.)
So let us return to Amina al-Sirafi, now determined to get some answers of her own.